August nine

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We gathered wood from a cabinet maker. A creative. The shop smelled of machines and sawdust. He showed us wood from his childhood oak tree. He made a desk for his son with some of it. He dreams of making him a bed someday and wonders if his son understands the importance and meaning woven into it. I told him his son would grasp the depth of beauty even more as the years roll by. He looked around the shop and told us that this is what he is put here on earth for. We drove away and talked of his words.

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August eight

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Proof that I am simply here and quite moving forward. Daily. My quiet corner in the midst of a not so quiet house is where the moving forward is schemed when my corner of the ocean is not to be presently sought out for such things.

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my boy will always be able to say
he went surfing with his mom when she turned fifty.
i even caught my first two for-reals waves.
he saw it
and was as excited as i.

my dad told me today
that his fifties were his best
and i have a lovely friend who can’t wait to be the age of fifty.
so i am determined to grow and change and blossom
with this new season.
it is unknown ground,
for i no longer have little ones that fill my every moment,
giving each day purpose.

i will not be given to fear of doing things
or being alone
or things not turning out OK.
i will not be afraid of playing.
i will continue to be real and have faith and love.
i can always love.
and i will do it all one minute at a time.
one choice at a time.
one picture at a time.

like today when i made the choice
against all inner churnings
to hit the waves with my boy then take one simple whimsy picture.

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perfectly imperfect

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today this girl is reminded

that a rather imperfectionist she absolutely is

for two corners needed wonky little strips added before sewing on the binding was possible. and a little square was sewn over a tiny hole discovered whilst swirling and whirling with quilting. it is always the odd parts of my creative endeavors that are my favorite parts. which is also true of my daily clothing choices.

something is not right

if i match all perfect

and return to the closet i must

until something is perfectly amiss

making all well once again.


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february seventeen – books

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i wake up every day to these books.
i walk by them many times in a day.
i go to bed every day looking at these books.

sometimes they remind me that i homeschool. sometimes i wonder why so much time has been spent reading them when one can hardly remember enough of their contents to have made their reading a worthy deed. have they shaped me or was i just hoping they would. maybe i was trying to be someone i am not. someone this girl could never have the style of brain to be. it’s not what moves me. it doesn’t bring meaning or relationship. there are probably less than a dozen books that i loved. the first two thirds of president reagan’s autobiography – he is a great storyteller. he made me laugh and cry. a book on anne bradstreet and theodore roosevelt. jane eyre. joan of arc by mark twain – brilliant use of words. hannah coulter – i wish i had read it when our family first began, and every year thereafter.  winnie the pooh and charolette’s web – i will always remember reading these to my children. east of eden which is on my daughter’s bookshelf. Gilead – a poetic style that inspires my own writing. chesterton and lewis do not top my list. they are heady and a philosopher i am not, although i have tried to be. i don’t think i am to touch this world with my intellect. i think i’m to effect my corner of the world with hands that serve and create, a listening ear that turns to prayer, and hopefully an encouraging word from time to time. besides. i am a big girl now.

i shall read what i want to read.
not what i should read.
and i will take my boys to the beach and for walks
and to ice cream
and to be with their sister in the city
and to listen to their grandpa’s stories.
and i will help them find books they love.
i will show them the beauty of being a friend of God.
and i will spread pretty banners where pretty needs to be.

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february twenty

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brothers were in the shed grinding and smoothing and carving away on scraps of wood that happen to be conveniently piled in the side yard. i shall complain no more about that pile, for a wealth of creativity it shall provide. this little rose was stolen away for the setting of mugs. i quite like it. they quite like their shed. it is ginormous. it is really a dream come true. youth group, then a short-cut that was really a long-cut, to drop off a friend who tricked this driver in an effort to hear the whole song. love that boy.

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